


We're all going to hell, baby!

by orphan_account



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: 15 people are dead in like the first chapter and it just gets worse from there, Banter, Blood and Gore, Dark Comedy, Demonic Possession, Demons, Demons Are Assholes, Ghosts, Ghoul boys serial killer AU, Gun Violence, Hands, M/M, Murder, No one is having a good time, On the Run, Paranormal, Protective!Shane, Roadtrip, Ryan im so sorry my poor boy, Serial Killer Ryan Bergara, Serial Killer Shane Madej, Slow Burn, Supernatural - Freeform, Violence, angsty, but not really??, chaotic - Freeform, i could never be as funny as them but ill try, im so sorry this is the most effort ive put in anything ever, just a fucktone of murder, like slow as fuck im so sorry, lots of swearing, not beta read we die like men, shane is tired bro!, shovel murder, soft moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 06:08:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21248690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Everything was perfect.Until it wasn’t. Oops.





	We're all going to hell, baby!

**Author's Note:**

> For sake of plot Shane lies near a forest, for what are locations but plot convenience? Anyways, this is real fucked up but also tries to be funny,,,, so ya know, have some funn reading it! I love this fic like a son

The morning was peaceful, the sun rising to gently peek through the clouds and nudge the world awake. The warm purr of his cat, Obi, awoke him from a cozy slumber, and the absence of dreams only assisted in the serene air of that morning. Dragging his unwilling body from the bed and into the kitchen, Obi pattered after him, mewing, as if to ask his destination. He arrived in the kitchen to pour himself a bowl of cereal, the box was new so instead of a pile of crumbs, he got full-sized cereal, crunchy and barely chipped. The milk was half full so when he poured it, it didn't come out suddenly and spill everywhere, but he didn't have to worry about not having enough to cover the cereal. He had put the dishes away last night so instead of having to drag a dirty spoon out of the sink and rinse the gunk off he just slipped open the drawer and took out a clean spoon from the pile. Leaving his cereal to soften slightly he filled Obi’s bowl with biscuits after some incessant meowing, and retrieved a soft throw from the dryer, wrapping himself in the warmth and smell of the freshly dried blanket. Wearing it like a cape he took his cereal to the living room and sat on the couch, sinking into the cushions as some nature documentary played as background noise.

Needless to say, everything was perfect. 

Until it wasn’t.

A knock at the door, the clatter of keys as someone fumbled with the lock, and the creak as a man burst through the door and slammed it behind him. Frantically locking the door and then running into the living room and kitchen where Shane was trying to eat his breakfast.  
“Shane! Your home? Of course your home it's 7 AM, hi! How are you doing?” the intruder stood in the doorway of the living room, holding something behind his back and covered in an assortment of dirt, liquids, leaves, sticks, and bark. A berry had found itself nestle in the intruder's hair along with something crusty and dried.  
“Ryan what the fuck.” Shane just squinted, judging, barely awake enough to take this all in without some caffeine in his system and food in his stomach.  
“Sorry, I may have, um, done something. Something bad. And I need somewhere to stay and clean up. Your couch free?” Ryan's voice, despite being a full-grown man, cracked multiple times through his begging. Shane, groggy and tired and not in the mood for his coworker to rush in and ask to stay (How did he even get the address?) just stared for a couple of seconds, letting his poor cereal get soggier and soggier the longer he watched.  
“You know what Ryan? I’m a good friend and I’d like to think I can trust you, so you can go clean up, eat something, steal some of my clothes, and then we’ll talk. Cool? Cool.” Shane squinted, nodded, and then turned back to the all-important task of cereal. 

Ryan edged down the hall, and then popped his head back around the corner.  
“Where's the-” he couldn’t even get a full sentence out before Shane responded, voice scratchy from talking so much in the morning.  
“Shower down the hall on your left. The bedroom is at the end of the hallway, shirts top draw, pants second from the top. Use the soap bar, not the gel, that shits expensive.” Ryan exited, Shane ate his cereal. Everything was (moderately) okay again. 

Shane finished his cereal, drank some coffee from some instant coffee packs he’d taken from the last hotel buffet he’d visited, and held Obi like a lifeline despite the cats protests, using the cat as an excuse to ramble to air, not that he didn’t ramble to air often (he did, and he got paid for it) but that the scene that had greeted him this morning was not one he’d ever expect to see. It baffled him. What even happened? Did he wake up in a ditch or something? Had he escaped a kidnapper? Shane decided that it was best not to worry, he’d probably explain later. Shane's only true worry was that Ryan had taken one of his favorite shirts, that was definitely what was freaking him out. 

Sitting at the kitchen table, he noticed something. It was one of those obnoxious blue and yellow IKEA bags made of some kind of durable tarp. Strange, Shane hadn’t gone to IKEA in years. It was definitely Ryan's then. Perhaps it was what he was hiding awkwardly behind his back when he first came in? Weird, why had he tried to hide a bag?

Curious and slightly skeptical (as he tended to be) Shane placed the furious Obi on the ground, who ran the opposite direction to somewhere in the house, miffed at Shane for keeping him hostage, and so Shane walked towards the bag, intending on finding out its contents.  
“Wait! Don’t! You really shouldn’t look in there!” Ryan had walked in just as he was about to peek inside. Shane, now with caffeine and food in him, fit neatly back into his normal personality. A wisecracking nuisance of a beanstalk.

“What? Is it something spooky? Did you bring your holy water in its big fancy case and didn’t want to ruin it? Ooh is it something for sexy times?” Shane wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, just to annoy Ryan, as any good friend does.  
“No! Just please, don’t look at it. I’ll go and be out of your hair if you just please don’t look in the bag!” Ryan was begging at this point.  
“Too late! I’m gonna open it! If your getting so worked up over it, it must be something baaaaaad, I just want a glance. It can’t be too bad! Don’t worry I won’t read your 5-page big foot X moth man fic. Just want a looksie.” Shane, quickly jumping to antagonize yet still make light of the situation, went to grab the bag, grinning all the while about his hilarious comedy.

Ryan, fueled by adrenaline and pure desperation, and in an unexpected amount of strength, tackled Shane to the ground. Unfortunately, Shane had already grasped the handles of it, and so as Shane was tackled the contents of the bag rolled out and spilled all over the floor.

Hands. Human hands puffed up and bloody and smelling to high heaven rolled out of the bag and onto Shane's kitchen floor. There were 6 hands in total, two being slightly smaller than the rest. Oh my god. What the fuck?

Shane, from his position on the floor, only stared in shock for a few seconds before commentating.  
“Ryan. Are those real human hands?” he stood up, brushing himself of imaginary dust, and continuing to stare at the hands-on his floor all the while.  
“Would it be bad if I said yes?” Ryan looked like he’d been on a ghost hunt where the spirit box had yelled his name, or threatened to kill him. He looked scared out of his mind. But not of the hands, mostly Shane. Okay, slightly the hands.  
“Ryan, what did you do?” Shane stood there, six hands on the floor, his two hands in the air in a fit of less anger and more some kind of astonishment.

“Uhm, well, you see. Do you remember Ricky Goldsworth? The bit that I’ve done in the episodes a couple of times.” Ryan wrung his hands together like a nervous mother watching their six-year-olds first ballet recital that ended with the child flat on its face.  
“Yes, I remember Ricky Goldsworth! What does that have to do with the human hands on my kitchen floor?” Shane was losing it, there was no way Ryan was blaming a bit for… the hands.  
“Well, you see, at first it was just a joke, and then he kind of started, getting a mind of its own? Like I would notice periods of the day I didn’t remember and bits in episodes of me pretending to be Rickey but I didn’t remember doing them? Like I’d been, I dare to say it, possessed? And I had just gone to bed last night, and it was all good, and then I woke up in a ditch in the middle of the forest. Covered in blood and dirt and all the stuff I had on me when I walked in. And there were three graves, with bodies in them, and the name Ricky Goldsworth was inscribed on the handle of the shovel in my hand. I woke up standing up mind you, shovel in hand. And next to the graves there was a bag. A bag filled with human hands. And then I heard sirens and I panicked and ran and the bag was still in my hand and I saw a signpost and then I was like ‘Hey, doesn’t Shane live around here?’ And then I found your keys in my pocket, blaming that one on Ricky, so I ran here. And now you know!” Ryan looked like a mad man. Rambling and expressing everything with strange and erratic hand motions that at the end of it had Shane once again squinting at him. 

“So you're telling me, you’ve been possessed? You killed three people, cut off their hands and put it in an IKEA bag of all things, buried them in the forest near my house with an engraved shovel, and then, covered in incriminating evidence, ran to my house? Bag of hands still in hand?” Shane was beyond human emotion, his rage had ascended the realm of existence.  
“Bu-”  
“No, you don’t get to but in when I’m not done losing my shit at you! When did this demon or whatever you say is possessing you have time to get Ricky Goldsworth engraved on a shovel? Why did he engrave the name of your creepy bit on a shovel? What does any of this even mean! Why didn’t you tell me you were losing time? Don’t you trust me? How do we even know it’s something possessing you and not like, a mental illness?” Shane's left eye twitches, he continues to stare at the hands and then back to Ryan, and then back to the hands.  
“Uh, well, you see… I kind of woke up in a pentagram? So I’m pretty sure the demon or uh, ‘Ricky Goldsworthy’, is still back there in the pentagram. Which means hey! No more possession. But doesn’t deal with the whole ‘killing 3 people’ thing?” Ryan kinda just shrugs awkwardly and scrunches up his face into a grimace. Shane notices some blood left in one of Ryan's eyebrows, he is clearly not cut out to be a murderer. Although he’s not sure why the deathly fear of ghosts and unwavering sense of morality didn’t give that away immediately. Hang on, pentagram?  
“Wait, you're saying there’s a demon, somewhere in the woods, trapped in a pentagram next to a bunch of graves? Wait, was the pentagram intact?” Shane liked to think that he knew enough about the ‘supernatural’ in order to dispute, it was a necessity of the skeptic role. 

You couldn’t dispute something you didn’t understand.

Which is why his brain was reeling at the thought of had the pentagram been broken, next to three recently deceased corpses, it would just take one of the corpses as a vessel and continue with its chaos (or whatever the goal of the demon was). Not that Shane was playing with the idea that maybe it was all a lie and the supernatural did exist, not at all. Just, if Ryan wasn’t lying they may have a problem. Maybe.

“I… don’t know? Maybe we should go back? We can drop off the hands while we’re there.” Ryan was less than okay, a demon had been possessing him for who knows how long and now he’d killed three people? Well, technically, the demon killed them using his body like a weird meat suit. Eugh. Why did it cut off their hands? Who knows. Despite what discrepancies he might have with Shane he also realized the danger of having three empty bodies next to a (possibly) loose demon.

As they stood in the kitchen, hands on the floor and eyes twitching at their dilemma, there questions and fears were answered. Well, one of them at least.

The front door slammed in, and over the poor doors corpse stood Ricky Goldsworth (they were running with the name now, it was easier that way than just calling it ‘the demon’). It was a man, dressed in what would have been nice formal clothes, for an office worker or contractor. A pair of corduroy slacks and a blue striped shirt tucked into where the belt sat, tightly wound. Unfortunately, it was a dead body being possessed by a demon, so there were more than a few things off about it. For one, it had a massive gaping stab wound in its chest, little chunks of flesh and blood stained what once may have been an expensive shirt. Its hands ended in smoky-black claws, and when it opened its mouth to scream at them a mouth of razor-sharp teeth revealed itself. What once might have been a neat head of hair, gelled back for convenience, was a wild dirt-covered nest with two goat-like horns poking out of either side. 

Finally, they made eye contact with Ricky.

Infinite black, galaxies and solar systems, the space between them and the void beyond. Ricky held the stars like hostages in his eyes. 

There was also just a lot of blood and dirt. Everywhere. Mixed like a gross paste. All over Ricky and the floor. Which probably meant he’d made a very obvious, very bloody trail right to Shanes house from the graves. Great. Incriminating evidence, just what they needed.

Ricky screeched bloody murder (literally) and pounced at Ryan. Shane, in his panic, noted that Ricky had a goat tail of all things. He stood frozen as Ricky attempted to bash Ryan over the head with a shovel, the cogs in his brain turning as it all started to add up. 

Ricky was the goat-man, and he wanted his bridge back. This was all Shane’s fault. Shit. 

Not too mention the dilemma of demons actually being real, but right now he should probably be preventing a fourth murder. He still wasn’t sure what the hell the hands were for though. 

Shane jumped forward in a surreal haze of adrenaline and pinned the goat-man (Ricky) to the floor. In a flash, Ryan had grabbed the shovel from Ricky’s hands as it made several loud and obnoxious goat-like squeals. In a moment of anger and fear fueled by adrenaline, Ryan started screaming, punctuated by several wacks to the noggin with the shovel.

“SHUT!” WHACK “THE!” WHACK “FUCK!” WHACK “UP!” WHACK “YOU!” WHACK “DUMB!” WHACK “FUCKING!” WHACK “GOAT!” WHACK. Ryan stood there, shovel in hand and heavy with exhaustion and exhilaration, staring at the still possessed corpse. If it wasn’t already dead he might feel bad (he did, just a little). Shane, still sitting on the chest of the goat man like some large cat, stared at Ryan for a couple of seconds before voicing a considerably valid question, raised his hand like a second-grader.  
“Ryan, where the fuck did that come from?”  
“Well, considering this thing decided to kill 3 people while possessing me and leave it to me to clean up all the evidence, I think I might be privy to a bit of anger against it, doncha think?” Ryan was, admittedly, a little scary from Shane’s position on the floor. 

Staring up at Ryan was a unique experience (as he usually towered over him) and the blood splatter, borderline insane expression and shaky grip on the shovel covered in dripping red and grotesque little chunks of the brain really help set the mood. Shane stood up, just to be safe (it didn’t help, Ryan was still making that face and the blood quickly starting to gurgle out from the crater of goat-man-face did not make it better, like, at all).  
“Bet you they’ll call you the shovel murderer! I’m not morally condoning this but from what I can tell, Ricky only murdered with that shovel. Reckon we’ll get any answers from him?” Shane decided to do what he did best, feigning calm. And, if he was lucky, he might get a laugh out of Ryan! Wouldn’t that be something snazzy? 

Sadly, Ryan was trapped internally in his moral dilemma, so Shane more or less got no apparent reaction.  
“We should probably tie him up. Just in case he wakes up. Ya know, demon powers or whatever.”

With the help of a makeshift pair of handcuffs (zip ties) and a pillar in between the kitchen and entryway, they secured the goat-man's meat bag. The hands were recollected in the bag and abandoned in the fridge, the shovel scrubbed and brain flesh disposed down the drain, and a healthy dose of bleach to a majority of the kitchen was applied. Shane wasn’t entirely sure why the goat demon didn’t leave a trail of blood and dirt as he’d assumed, but he supposed it was just one less thing to deal with. Was he going to have to burn the hands? Maybe. He really didn’t want to, burning human flesh was not a smell he wanted to be familiar with.

Just as Shane was having his own moral (and hygienic) dilemma about the hands, Ryan interrupted the silence they’d found themselves in.

“Am I a bad person?” his voice was small and scared.  
“What?” Shane walked over to Ryan, gently placing a hand on his back. He didn’t know how to feel when Ryan flinched.  
“Am I a bad person?” He turned around to make eye contact with him, tears welling his eyes, his mouth in a permanent frown. He tried to fight against the frown, but he couldn’t, and then the tears started rolling. “God I’m a terrible person! What am I going to do? What are we going to do? Oh my god, Shane, I’m so so sorry I-“ Ryan’s sad rambling was cut off by a warm embrace. Shane, scared as ever, knew many things he didn’t know when he woke up this morning.  
Demons, and possibly the rest of the supernatural, were real  
There were 3 people dead, murdered in cold blood, murdered using the hands of one of his best friends  
The goat man didn’t appreciate him taking his bridge, and was apparently real  
And the 4th was something he supposed he’d known all along.  
Ryan, despite having (technically) killed 3 people and having mangled a (possessed) corpse, was, at heart, a good person  
“Buddy, shh, it’s all gonna be okay. We’re gonna figure this out. And damn it if we won’t show this demon that he has it coming! He won’t know what hit him after the ghoul boys are done!” Shane wrapped Ryan in a hug, warm and delicate and safe. And Ryan, for the first time that day, was just a little bit okay again. Ryan let himself cry, small desperate sobs, in the embrace of Shane. It was the company that helped the most, he didn’t feel so alone. So trapped in his moral dilemma. Having a shoulder to cry on (even if it was Shanes) helped, more than anything

It was just then that goat felt it would be a good time to interrupt. In the time they’d be yapping and embracing like a pair of otters in the ocean, the goat had reconstructed the face of his meat suit back to full functionality. Pitty that they had the sense to tie him up, otherwise he would have crushed in their skulls already. Being constricted to a human form was the worst, especially a corpse because there was no soul to leech off of that already knew all the controls, it was all just a bit of a hit and miss really. ‘Press the button until you bash in someone’s head’ the game.

“Having a good ol time chaps? Enjoy your bonding moment?” Satan he was missing having Ryan as a vessel. He knew his controls well enough and he was so scared all the time that there was never a day where he didn’t have a full belly of fear. Despite the benefits though, he deeply missed his bridge. Even lacking a soul demons were allowed one attachment, Ricky (he lacked enough power or influence to deserve a name, but he’d become quite fond of the name Ricky) had chosen the bridge not long into his existence (he was a young demon, hence his lack of power, a hell-born), before he really realized he’d be stuck with it to the end of time. Fucking idiot. Satan he hated mortal bodies! Ryan had done a number on the head and without a soul to leech off of, healing the corpse to functionality took a lot more power than he should be throwing around. Satan fucking damnit, dam them all to hell. Now, just to figure out how to get this body out of this trap and get back to bludgeoning them! 

“What the fuck?” Ryan, tears still wetting his face, turned to face Ricky.  
“Surprise, it's me! I’ll do jazz hands if you let me out!” he tried to smile sweetly, but his mouth was just a bunch of razor-sharp teeth, and there was far too much blood and dirt on his face for him to look anything more than murderous. He would definitely strangle them if they let him out, no doubt about it. 

Shane was now in ‘protective mode’ and was also incredibly pissed at Ricky for being the sickest bastard in the known universe (that and fucking with Ryan was a real big no-no). So he was objectively the best bet for interrogoating Ricky (get it?) that, and Ryan wasn’t in a stable enough mood to do anything but bash in its head again. But, that might just have been better than what Shane said next.  
“Why’d you engrave the shovel man? What was the fucking point? And when did you even get the time to engrave something? That shit looked like a professional job, where do you even go to get a fucking shovel engraved?” Shane was fucking dumbass, Ryan should have remembered. Fucking hell.  
“I’m a bit, forgetful, I have things more important than shovels, but this one is important because, you know, murder weapon? So I found a key engraving service and asked if they could engrave my shovel. $15, pretty good price, enough Ryan didn’t notice the money go missing. Although getting a hang on currency was pretty tricky at first.” Ricky was talking like he was chatting casually with his colleagues, not like when he was possessing Ryan and would scare the shit out of Shane, or like a man (demon) who murdered three people in a sick fashion

Shane did that weird judging squint again, and Ryan, well, he was dissociating (slightly), so not much was making it through. One thing that did make it through was that a goat demon had scammed him out of $15. Although, next to murdering 3 people it wasn’t so bad. Still $15 though. 

Shane nodded once, then twice, then a 3rd time, and then an odd 4th, like he somehow desperately hoped if he pretended everything was alright, it just magically would be. Unfortunately, a goat demon possessing a person it had killed (while possessing one of his best friends) was still tied up in his living room, so he supposed it didn’t work. Hmm. He had a lot of questions for Ricky, but he wasn’t entirely sure which ones to ask. Oh well, suppose you only know if you seek.

“Why’d you possess Ryan and not me?” Shane had picked up the spoon leftover from his cereal and pointed it, accusatory, at Ricky, if he was the one interrogating then dammit if he wasn’t going to play the role well, and that meant props (even terrible makeshift ones like old spoons that smell like milk). Ricky looked at Shane and something shifted across the void of his eyes, a gleam of something, almost unidentifiable, but it was there alright.  
“Your soul it’s… strange. There’s not much fear to feed off of and Ryan is just so potent with fear that there was no competition. Plus, I couldn’t feed on you if I tried.” Ricky winked cheekily, although considering the reconstruction of the face hadn’t gone particularly well it didn’t work well with missing facial muscles but ya know, facial muscles schmacial fuscles. 

But just as he winked the same thing shifted across his eyes, and Shane pinpointed the emotion it was conveying this time. Fear. Ricky was scared of him? Strange. Why wouldn’t he be able to feed on his soul? Dammit, now he was just making more questions for himself. Questions he’d probably never get answers to. Actually, he could just ask the demon, it couldn’t hurt. After all, he was a hostage and them, his captors.  
“Why can’t you feed on me?” Shane full-on glared this time, still brandishing the spoon like a mighty weapon.  
“There’s some rather um… holy parts of your being that are less than compatible for a demon. You probably had an ancestor who was a powerful priest or something, something that affected your bloodline to be a bit demon-proof. It’s probably why demons and ghosts generally tend to avoid you, demons are repelled by the angelic ness and ghosts don’t want to absorb any of the essence less it erases them from existence. Ryan on the contraré has no holy qualities and as such attracts supernatural creatures like moths to a flame, especially as he is bursting at the seams with fear.” Ricky was getting tired of being used as an informant, but what can you do when your zip-tied to a pole? He’d have to think about it. Shane, on the other hand, was ecstatic and didn’t care if he was being slightly insensitive, dam them all to hell for all he cared! They are demons after all.  
“Did you hear that Ryan? I’m demon proof! You can’t touch me now ghouls! You cowards can’t lay a finger on me! Cowards, all of you! Absolute bastards! I’m untouchable!” Shane was doing that weird thing where he enthusiastically whispered like someone leaning into your ear to tell you a story but instead the whole world was the ear and Shane was the one telling the story. Except the ear in this situation was a demon and Ryan, and the story was just Shane gloating over his supposed demon proof-ness. Anyway, that’s not the point, bad metaphor, but you get the idea.

Alas, in the few seconds of Shane's ego gloating parade, Ricky had finally used that brain of his and come up with a plan, of which he was already taking into action. Ryan was shaken, vulnerable, made this way by a few measly human lives. He’d originally killed the family because they'd come to his house as a local church group a couple of days ago and religious people really pissed him off, so he snuck into their homes, bashed their hands in, and buried them near Shanes house like a sick joke. Some dumb occultists had left a shitty pentagram in the woods, one he broke out of easily, but still powerful enough to remove him from the vessel once he tried to step out of it. Not that he was a fallen angel, but even being a hell-born he was allowed to be a little angry at God and his supporters, at least he thought so.

So, essentially, he was fueled by human emotions, fear just happened to give him the most power which was why Ryan was a delectable host. He also didn’t have to possess him to feed off of him, so the plan was, essentially: scare the shit out of Ryan, feed off his fear, break out of the zip tie through sheer strength, and then bash their heads in with the shovel, and take the hands home for a nice snack. Mmmm, crunchy.

So he as Shane spoke he started glaring at Ryan, letting his eyes shift this way and that, in color and direction. He poked out a long snake-like tongue, a horrifying glamour he had sprung up for the occasion (he was counting on getting plenty of power from Ryan), and then began to lick like a slobbery dog all around his lips, gnawing and gnashing away at the air with his mouth full of razors. Unluckily, once Shane stopped gloating he quickly took notice of what the goat was doing. “Hey you little piss boy, stop scaring the shit out of him!” unfortunately for Shane, Ryan was already scared enough for the goat-man to have fed off of him, and as quickly as Shane had protested the goat-man had ripped his way out to freedom with a menacing snarl.

Although as it appeared, the longer Ricky stayed in the body the more it appeared goatlike, and so when he attempted to stand up there was only a pair of hooves to help him. Unfortunately, he was still button mashing when it came to controls, so standing up was more like watching a newly born deer attempting to walk. There was a lot of falling, the legs were shaky, nothing was balancing or moving quite right, and it was honestly kind of endearing? Eugh, no one should be thinking that about Ricky.

Ryan, still scared out of his mind wielded his shovel, and Shane almost opted for bare fists but instead opened the cupboard under the kitchen bench and grabbed a crowbar he sometimes used for general house maintenance. They stood there like a pair of teenagers in a zombie apocalypse movie in the opening shot and prepared to whack the demon over the head. Ricky was an idiot, why hadn’t he fed on Ryan when he first got here? Actually, that could probably be explained, impulse and blood lust from just waking up. That and being in a new meat suit was slightly disorienting. 

Just as Ricky goes to jump, and they go to whack, a team of S.W.A.T members walks in through the front door and starts screaming orders to ‘put your hands up and no one will get hurt. Ricky is a fucking dumbass of a demon, but he doesn’t account for how big of a dumbass Ryan and Shane are, and so a game of wack-a-mole begins when Ricky jumps from his vessel into a swat members body and proceeds to start gunning down the other S.W.A.T members, luckily this meat suit has a soul (with surprisingly accurate shooting skills) so Ricky just guns out all of their knees so they are helpless on the floor (almost helpless, one is trying to call for backup). Ryan jumps behind the possessed S.W.A.T member and bashes them over and over with the shovel, cracking the helmet open and leaving the skull susceptible to the might of the shovels scooper. Effectively rendering the soul's skills useless, what with the body dying and the damage to the brain. So, Ricky jumps into one of the downed S.W.A.T members and the process repeats. Ricky jumping from one body to another as Ryan renders each of them useless with his shovel. Shane had hidden behind the kitchen bench as soon as Ricky had started shooting, but now he was peeking over the edge, watching the sickest game of whack-a-mole in history go down.

Eventually, the entire S.W.A.T team is down, and Ricky has repossessed the original corpse while Ryan stands in the entryway, panting, shovel in hand and somehow covered in more blood and brains than the last time he bashed in the goat man's skull a couple of hours ago. Shane stands up from behind the counter and walks slowly back towards the hallway and down into his room. Ryan hears the sound of a zip and the shuffling of clothes and various appliances being thrown this way and that. Shane comes out a couple of minutes later with the biggest suitcase Ryan has ever seen and care keys in the other. Shane stares Ryan down and raises his eyebrow, asking the fated question “Road trip?”.  
“But what do we about Ricky?” Ryan scrunched up his nose, squint-glared, and shook his head in disdain.  
“Eh he can come, if we’re gonna be on the run, why not add a homicidal fear eating demon to the mix?” Shane was well and truly, as you say, fucking done. 

And so, they walked out to the garage, shoved the suitcase and whatever provisions they could take from the kitchen, put Ricky in the back and scooped up Obi and his stuff in there with him, and then, they were on there way.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Instead of begging you for comments like a coward (which I am) I'm going to ask for location suggestions for the road trip portion of this fic! I am Australian and as such know shit about america, so if you've got any weird obscure small american towns, or just anywhere you'd like the boys to go, comment below. Thank u and goodnight .-.


End file.
